Page 134 of Unholy Masks

And most stay blind.

I got the call the next day. Detective Nia Hall waited for me in Noah’s house with Detective Rosario.

“He is...” I stepped in with my gloves on.

“The one who murdered Sofia, Nikki, and Rose.” Detective R shook his head.

They would never know he would have killed another six women if we hadn’t stopped him.

“Suicide?” I studied the bullet hole on his head and the one on his stomach.

“His brother said he did it to himself. He was depressed and wasn’t sleeping.” Detective Rosario pointed at the gardenias. “It’s suicide.”

There was relief in the detective’s face.

Grant Mercer stood there, his hands on his face, sobbing.

“I-I knew he was… I didn’t know Noah was capable of this,” he whispered to the officer standing next to him. “How can anyone be capable of this?” Grant shook his head. “Three women? He killed three women. My God, how did I not see that? I could have—”

The world was full of monsters hiding in the masks of men. Men like my father, Robert Miller, Noah Mercer.

“Why would he kill himself?” Detective Hall asked.

“Who knows?” Detective Rosario shrugged. “Can anyone really guess what’s going on in their heads? We are not psychopaths!” He stared at the dead man. “I’m just relieved he won’t be ruining more lives.”

32

MOMENTS OF CLOSURE

TRISH

Three days. There were only three days left for Yara’s birthday.

The Tattooist, his death and the ensuing chaos had messed up my schedule. A mess. He made a fucking mess.

But now that his story was over, it was time for mine to start.

In three days, we would start again.

Yara and I. Over spilled blood and dead men.

The air was still as if the world had paused, waiting, waiting for all hell to break loose.

I saw her almost every day… it was somehow better and worse.

She walked with Ryden like her world had healed. She smiled with Irene like everything in her life was right. She joked with Enzo, and laughed for his joke.

She had almost forgotten that I existed just beyond the light, just beyond her laughter. Just outside the fragile little world she had built where the dead stayed buried, and the monsters stayed away.

The momentary peace had softened her. It had smoothed the sharp edges. I let her have it. I let her relax.

She spent time with me and Irene, Enzo and Ryden. She talked about days when there were no bodies to cut open and analyze, no evidence bags, no bloodstained rooms waiting for her.

“I like it,” she said that night, sitting with a plate of sandwiches in her lap. “This quiet.”

“But the Strangler...” I trailed off.

“I know.”